These Foolish Things Remind Me of You
by foreverwriting9
Summary: The seven items Sophie leaves in Nate's apartment, and his memories connected to them.


I.

Sam met Sophie once, before he became really sick.

Nate introduces her as a colleague, a friend, and they spend the day at the museum, and after laughing at Picasso's and staring with open-mouthed awe at some Monet's, they make their way to an ice cream stand across the street.

Mint chocolate chip for Sophie, and chocolate for Nate and Sam (and if he thinks back hard enough, Nate can remember the clothes they were wearing, and the way Sophie laughed when they discovered that Sam wasn't eating his ice cream so much as wearing it).

* * *

He doesn't have many intact memories of moments like this between him and Sam and Maggie.

* * *

At the end of the day, they all walk back to Nate's car hand in hand, Nate on one side of Sam, and Sophie on the other. Sam chatters away excitedly, telling Sophie all about his school and his friends, and this moment manages to feel so _normal_ to Nate that he actually catches himself smiling.

It's not at all how a secret meeting should feel.

When they reach the car, Sophie smiles softly. "Goodbye, Nate."

Sam tugs at her hand. "You're very pretty, Miss Sophie."

Nate knows she's been complimented by royalty and politicians, and yet, the simple words from his little boy seem to affect her more. Sophie actually _blushes_ (it's a slight blush, but Nate still counts it), and then she does something Nate doesn't expect her to do; she crouches down so she and Sam are at eye level, and then pecks him on the cheek. "And you, Sam, are a very sweet boy."

Nate watches Sam in the rearview mirror on the drive home and smiles at the adorable grin plastered across his son's face. He's pretty sure Sam just fell in love with Sophie Devereaux (he's also pretty sure he just fell more in love with her himself).

* * *

Months later, when Sam's sitting in a hospital bed, too weak to even move by himself, Nate walks into Sam's bedroom. Just to look around, to steal away for a moment and remember the times before the hospital rooms. Under some books and several sheets of construction paper, Nate finds a crayon picture of himself, Sam, and Sophie at the ice cream stand, each of them holding ice cream cones much bigger than their bodies.

* * *

A couple months after Sam dies, Nate finds Sophie in a small café in France. He sits down across from her, and eventually pulls out a folded piece of paper and slides it over to her (because he's so tired of staring at it all day, everyday and wishing he could turn back time).

* * *

It's the same folded piece of paper he finds years later in his apartment, under some shirts, in the drawer that hides most of Sophie's clothes.

II.

Nate finds the white king sitting on one of his dressers, hidden behind a picture frame. Part of the crown has broken off, and it's smudged with dirt, but Nate recognizes it almost immediately.

The setting for this memory changes every so often, but the characters and conversation always remain the same. There's always him and Sophie and a chessboard, and the memory always starts with Sophie sliding into a chair across from him.

* * *

"You're playing by yourself?"

Nate jumps when he looks up from his newspaper to find Sophie sitting across from him. He squints at her through the darkness of the bar and frowns. "Sophie, how did you find me?"

She shrugs as though it's really no big deal. "I should be asking you the same question. I do believe I was here first."

Nate mirrors her shrug. "A week long exhibit with pieces ranging from Egyptian antiquities to Impressionist paintings, how could you not be here?"

She almost smirks at him. "Did you miss me, Nathan Ford?"

* * *

He never tells her the truth. No matter how many times he goes over this memory, the conversation remains the original one, and this fact drives him insane, because he should have told her then (that he went to bed thinking of her, woke up thinking of her, and spent all day thinking of her).

In hindsight it would have saved them a lot of running and chasing and globetrotting.

* * *

He changes the subject, and gestures to the board in front of him. "Have you ever played?"

Sophie rolls her eyes and shrugs. "Of course," she says it as though that should be really obvious. "But I'm not any good," she adds hastily. Nate smiles at her.

"Why don't you play me?" (His hubris will always be his downfall.)

Sophie's first few moves are amateurish, and Nate quickly takes three of her pawns and a rook. But before Nate can become really comfortable in the fact that he's actually going to beat Sophie at something for once, she suddenly develops the skill of a seasoned pro.

Nate grits his teeth as she takes his queen. "You played me."

"It's your fault. You believed me. If you were a millionaire I'd have your priceless paintings, half your fortune, and probably your toothbrush by now."

She wins (pretty handily too, and Nate swears he'll never be so taken in ever again).

"You beat me." He's frowning at her so hard that his forehead creases.

"Will your male ego ever recover?" She's half-way to the door already, Nate's white king resting in the palm of her hand.

"It will when I catch you and put you in jail."

Sophie laughs, and Nate allows himself the smallest of smiles (they both know that will never happen, not as long as she keeps him on his toes and continues wearing _those_ outfits).

III.

One morning, when Nate rolls over in bed, trying desperately to hide from the bright rays of sun slanting through his blinds, he finds a new picture frame on his bedside table. It's propped up next to Sam's drawing, set at an angle so that the picture itself can't be seen from Nate's current position.

He's wide awake now.

The picture is of him and Sophie, years ago, back when they were both tanned by their constant travels around the globe. Sophie's arm is draped across his shoulders, she's wearing a light, summery dress, and Nate's smirking slightly at the photographer.

* * *

"Nate, c'mere." He can't tell if she's really drunk or if she's just playing a character. Nate allows Sophie to slide her arm across his shoulders, as he tries not to touch her (because her dress is practically screaming at him to do _something _to her).

"Say cheese!" Nate has just enough time to turn toward the voice before lights pop in front of his eyes and blind him. He blinks rapidly, trying to erase the after images from his retinas. "Sophie, I asked you to come to this party so you could get in with the mark, not so you could get drunk." The lights are gone now, but Nate can only see Sophie, the rest of the room is far too dark for him to make out anything other than blurry shapes.

"Na-ate," Sophie turns and looks at him, and even though she sounds thoroughly drunk, her eyes are sparkling with laughter. She leans in close to him, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear. "It's a character, Nate. I don't get drunk while on the job."

Minutes later, she sashays off (as only Sophie Devereaux can), and plants herself at the mark's table, and Nate is left by himself to watch as she wraps the man around her finger.

* * *

He doesn't realize it until years later, but that moment annoys him, because in some very small way, Sophie is _his_, and Nate Ford has never been big on sharing.

IV.

He finds the pen on his desk. It's heavy, and looks fairly expensive. Nate turns it over in his fingers several times before finding the lettering written in a golden script.

_Nathan Ford_.

He remembers this pen.

* * *

"Hey Nate, congrats man. You totally deserve that promotion."

He smiles and shakes the man's hand. "Thanks," he says tersely because he's never liked that guy. A hand smacks him lightly across the back.

"Nate, be polite."

There's a short moment before he turns around when he lets his guard down, and his eyes slip closed at the sound of her voice. "Sophie what are you doing here?" He turns around to face her.

"If you're not polite, Nate, people will talk about you."

"Sophie," he practically growls at her, but he doesn't manage to intimidate her (he never really has), and she simply smiles at him.

"I heard you were being promoted."

"Sophie, you do realize that you're _in_ IYS? You're standing in a room full of people that would arrest you in a heartbeat."

She leans in toward him. "Including you," she says, with a look that's impossible for him to read.

He'll never arrest her, he's finally come to that conclusion, and despite the constant running and chasing, (it's like a perverse game of tag, or cops and robbers, or hide and seek) it's certainly not hate that keeps him chasing her down.

Another co-worker walks up to him, and Sophie slips away.

"Hey, Nate-" The rest of the words drift off, because Nate's attention is fully fixed on the space over the man's shoulder while he searches the crowd for the brunette who should, ordinarily, stick out like a sore thumb.

Sophie reappears, six and a half minutes later (not that he's been counting), when Nate is once again alone. She's twirling something between her fingers, and it's only once he sees the flash of his name that Nate realizes she's stolen his pen.

"A commemorative pen? What kind of gift is that?" She makes a face. "You're supposed to be really important now, right? Why give you a pen? How about a Ferrari, or some diamonds?"

"Sophie, not everything is about diamonds." He misses what she mumbles in reply, but he's pretty sure it sounds like _but it should be_. "Plus," he pats his jacket pockets, "wasn't that pen in my jacket?"

She looks confused. "So?"

"You pick-pocketed me?" He can tell by the look on her face that she doesn't understand why this irritates him.

He hates being treated like one of her marks, but Sophie can't resist, because she doesn't know how to treat her friends. Plus, Nathan Ford is a fun man to play with.

V.

He finds the watch tucked inside one of his jacket pockets, and this time, he shows his discovery to Sophie. She smiles at the faded numbers and the sun bleached face, and then takes it from his hand. "Rome," she says softly.

"1999," Nate adds, "outside the Barracco Museum."

"I was visiting the museum."

"You were _stealing_ from the museum."

* * *

He bumps into her, quite literally, while walking up the stairs. "Oh, excuse me."

"That's quite all right." The voice is different, but the figure is the same. She tries to push past him, but he catches her elbow.

"Sophie." He leans in far closer than he really needs to, but she doesn't even blink. Instead she looks him straight in the eye, loses the fake accent, and replies.

"Nate." Her fingers snake around his wrist, and he tries to ignore the warmth that begins seeping into his body. "How have you been?"

He ignores her. "What did you steal?"

She pouts at him, and her fingers retreat. "Nothing."

"I don't believe you."

"I haven't taken anything from this museum," she says. "Believe me." She leans in closer to him, kisses his cheek, and then she's gone, lost in the crowd of people.

It's only after she's left that Nate realizes she's taken his watch.

* * *

What he doesn't know is that she carries it with her wherever she goes, safe in her coat pocket, right next to her hip. She likes to pull it out every so often, and just look at it, because it was Nate's, but now it's hers, and somehow that makes her feel closer to him.

VI.

There's one item Nate finds that he has no memories tied to, and it's the one thing that confuses him more than anything else surrounding the enigma that is Sophie Devereaux.

He finds it under a dresser while he's busy cleaning. The corners are worn, and the quality is certainly not the best he's seen, but he's still able to tell that it's of her. Except, it's not the Sophie he knows, it's a different Sophie. A Sophie whose name is probably not even Sophie.

Nate flips the picture over, but there's nothing written on the back, no clues whatsoever.

There's a man in the picture, a man that Nate never met (because this is a picture from before even him, before the running and chasing and rooftops and art exhibits). He's not comfortable with this, staring at a different Sophie, one she probably never even wants him to know about.

He slips the picture back underneath the dresser, and a week later, when it's gone, he knows that she has it again (hidden away in a box of things that she tries to hide from everyone, even herself).

VII.

This time, Sophie finds it.

"Look," she smiles at him from around the closet door, and holds her hand out to him. He walks over, opens his hand, and watches as the orange piece of paper flutters into his palm.

"A ticket stub?"

"From the play."

"What play?"

* * *

"She's very awful." Nate can hear the horror in Hardison's voice, though he has to agree, it's a good thing that Sophie doesn't rely on the stage to actually make a living.

"Is she injured? In the head?" Parker sounds equally horrified, and Nate can't help but wonder why it's Parker of all people who asks that question.

"Seriously, man. This is the worst actress I've ever seen." Eliot has reached a whole new level of horrified, that the other two haven't quite achieved.

Nate's glad that Sophie's made such a great first impression.

"This is not her stage."

* * *

"You kept this? Why?" Nate flicks the ticket through his fingers before looking back up at Sophie. She smiles.

"Because it's a reminder of how my new life started."

* * *

"I'm a citizen now, honest," she says it while looking him straight in the eyes, and Nate has a split second of hesitation. What if she really has gone straight? Then he remembers that it's Sophie Devereaux standing in front of him.

"I'm not." He knows that's enough pique her curiosity.

"You're playing my side?" She smiles, and all the reasons that kept him chasing her around the world come flooding back to him. "I always thought you had it in you."

He tries to ignore that, and then asks the question that changes everything. "Are you in?"


End file.
